


Vampire Academy Oneshots and Drabbles

by shilo1364



Category: Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/M, Romance, Self-Harm, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scrapbook of VA snapshots. About various characters, at various points in the series (and before and after). I'm calling them 'snapshots' because they're brief scenes painted in words. Sort of drabble-ish. 9 chapters. originally posted on fanfiction.net, subsequently on Wattpad. NOW COMPLETE - Though I may add to it later, if inspiration strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She's Gone

Adrian and Rose - after Last Sacrifice

I raised my glass to take a sip, only to discover that it was empty. I wondered idly how that had happened, then shrugged it off and raised the glass further, intending to signal the barkeep that I needed another drink. My hand paused halfway, and I watched as the firelight danced and sparked along the patterns etched into the glass. It was beautiful, I mused, and deadly, like _her_.

Murmers danced around the edges of the pleasant haze that clouded my mind, and I wondered idly who the newcomer was. No one came here to talk, after all.

The click of heels on the bare wood floor startled me out of my reverie. I raised my eyes from where they had been studying the way the firelight reflected in my empty glass to stare at the newcomer. The sight of her almost took my breath away. I thought for an instant that I was dreaming – that the avenging angel before me had taken form from the one that haunted my imagination.

I saw the spark of recognition in her eyes, the hope that sprang into their depths as I gazed at her perfect body. I felt my eyes rake up and down her form, taking her in. I could no more have stopped them than I could have stopped a train. But I certainly didn't need to acknowledge that fact.

"What are you doing here?"

The words came out harsh – harsher than I meant them. I felt myself frowning, worked to keep the expression from my face, to present the blank, perfectly schooled, emotionless mask that I was known for.

She stared at me for a moment, her own expression wavering. Then she seemed to come to a decision. The tiny spark of hope that had flared for a moment died out, replaced with her own mask of steely indifference.

"I... came here looking for someone." she said finally. The words fell dispassionately into the empty silence. "But it seems I was mistaken. He's already long gone."

I was caught by a sudden memory of her eyes, flaring into my vision, full of fire and passion. But now they were hollow, soulless.

She turned on her heel and silently let herself out, easing the door shut behind her. The soft click as it shut rang louder than if she had slammed it.

I stared blankly for a moment at the space where she had been. Then I dropped my gaze back to my empty glass, and let my head sink slowly down until it rested against my outflung arm. She was gone. And this time, I knew, she wouldn't be coming back.

 


	2. Another Dance

Lissa and Christian - at the dance in Vampire Academy

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me." she purred.

But of course, there were also a lot of things she didn't know about me.

I smiled – not quite a predatory smile, but not a meek one either – and held out my hand. She took it – as I'd known she would – and stepped gracefully towards me, onto the dance floor.

I signaled the band, and smiled again as the soft strains of a waltz washed through the room.

I pulled her to me, with more force than strictly necessary, pressing her lithe body against my own. I placed my hand on her waist, she lay hers on my shoulder, and we began.

The music washed over us in soft golden waves, bringing color to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes.

I could get lost in those eyes, I mused, watching flecks of gold dance in their jade green depths.

The candles that lit the room gilded her hair, burnishing her sunkissed locks with flashes of gold. We glided around the room, keeping effortlessly in perfect synch. Neither of us spoke, choosing instead to converse with our eyes. She studied me, as I studied her. Memorizing, measuring, uncovering secrets and mysteries.

The music ended, the last notes falling away around us, and we swayed to a stop.

"Well?" I couldn't resist asking.

She smiled, showing the tips of delicate white fangs. "I think, Lord Ozera, that I require another dance."

 


	3. Sparks Fly

Abe and Janine at their first meeting

"So tell me," she breathed, "what can you do?"

"No." His grin was fierce, displaying perfectly straight teeth and razor-sharp fangs. "I'd rather show you."

She caught her breath as every candle in the room was suddenly extinguished, plunging them into a darkness so absolute it was as if even the memory of light had been expunged from the world.

The whispers and worried murmurs grew, echoing and reverberating off the walls, a crescendoing susurration which roiled around them. The clamoring of voices washed over and around them, never touching the two who stood as if in a bubble of silence.

Suddenly, a single flame flickered into existence between them, hovering above the palm of his outstretched hand, glowing and radiant, as if he had reached into the heavens and plucked for her a star.

The flame pulsed, beckoning, and as she hesitantly stretched forth one surprisingly delicate finger to touch it, it suddenly flared, limning her figure in radiant gold. It lit up every feature and detail, softening harsh lines and washing a blush across her too-pale skin. It wove strands of flame through her already fiery curls, and outlined every lash that framed her stunning emerald eyes.

"Beautiful," they murmured together – though they did not describe the same thing – and their breaths caught as their eyes met. He held her gaze for a moment, feeling something indefinable slipping out of his soul and into hers. Startled by the sensation of loss that followed, he suddenly raised his hand, sending the flame arcing up and up, until it exploded above their heads in a fiery shower. The sparks fell towards the frightened spectators, then suddenly changed direction and whisked away to alight on the waiting candles, eagerly jumping into flame once more.

And with that, the moment was broken, and he bowed to her, almost curtly, and then turned on his heel and briskly walked away. He didn't look back – he wouldn't stoop so low, he told himself – but his steps faltered and he paused for just an instant at the threshold, waiting for what he could never be certain. Whatever it was, it didn't come, and so he strode away, his guardians falling into step behind him. He would leave this city on the morrow, he knew, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he would leave some vital part of himself behind.

 

 


	4. The Silent Train Station

 

Abe leaves Janine

"Hello," she said, shyly, as she glanced at him through lowered lashes. Her breath caught yet again, as she surreptitiously studied his devastatingly handsome profile.

"Hi," he said, looking up from his paper, nodding in greeting. His eyes were pleasant, distant, the eyes of a stranger. Her stomach plummeted.

They waited, the rain spattering gently off their umbrellas, at the silent train station. A light fog drifted in, blanketing everything in a wispy haze and giving even the most mundane objects a surreal tinge. She listened to the incessant dripping, fancying she could feel her body losing its grasp on reality, fraying at the seams.

"Ummm..." she said, wondering if she should say anything, wondering if she should ask.... But of course she shouldn't – couldn't. There was too much between them, now, for there to be anything left to say. The silence stretched out, thinner than spider silk, spooling away into nothing.

"Yeah," he said, forstalling the question, saving her from the embarrassment of asking. Of course. How could it be different, really? she wondered. She scuffed the toe of her boot against the pavement, embarrassed anyway.

The train came, pulling into the station with a squeal of brakes on iron, throwing sparks into the damp air. The screeching of the wheels against the track echoed the screeching of the banshees in her head, and she lost track of where one started and the other began. Perhaps they were both infinite – both inevitable.

"Bye," he said, with a wave of his hand, as he folded his paper and picked up his bag. It was expensive, flashy – like everything else he owned. Like his impeccably tailored suit and the violent-hued scarf wound carelessly around his neck. A peacock would be less ostentatious, she thought dispassionately, and yet it suited him.

He left, walking slowly through the doors; they went swoosh behind him, and then shut with a final click.

She stood waiting in the rain, feeling her tears drip softly down her cheeks, mingling with the raindrops already there, wondering if he'd look out the window to see her, one last time. He didn't. Of course he didn't. It wasn't his style.

"Bye," she said, softly, as the train pulled out, her words echoing from the empty stone walls.

He didn't hear her; he was too busy looking forward, to his new life, his new destination. That's how he lived his life – perpetually moving forward, trampling over the past. Would she want him any other way? She wondered. What would it be like, to know he would stay? She snorted. May as well wonder what it would be like for the sun to suddenly spin backwards in the sky. He was practically a force of nature – and if he were any other way he wouldn't be himself. And, she was forced to admit, she wouldn't want him.

She stood in the rain for another moment, watching until the train was out of sight, savoring the smoky, salty taste of her tears on her lips – they were the last she would cry for him.

Then she turned and resolutely walked away, putting him, and her past, forever behind her.


	5. I Cut Myself Today

_****TRIGGER WARNING**** suicide by cutting. Read at your own risk._

Lissa, if Rose didn't get to her in time.

I cut myself today.

I had gotten out my exacto knife in preparation for making a collage. I used to enjoy making them. I used to find a measure of peace in the deliberate choosing of colors, textures, shapes... I picked up the magazine, and stopped.

The magazine slithered smoothly from my limp fingers; I didn't notice. My eyes were inexorably drawn to the knife I still held; a cold, gray life preserver – anything to save me from my sorrow. Slowly, meticulously, I pressed the gleaming blade to my bare arm, shivered as the flesh hesitantly parted, watched the bright, crimson droplets well up. Mesmerized, I traced a thin line along the length of my wrist, wondering at the beauty of the stark contrast: an angry red river cutting across a field of new-fallen snow. When the flow stopped, I cut again, and again. I glanced down at the spreading pool on the concrete floor beneath me, my eyes tracing the convoluted paths of the rivulets; the stream that was quickly becoming a river.

I smiled, a wild, feral smile, and pressed the razor-sharp edge to my skin once more. When this produced no results, I began to slash with reckless abandon at my wrists, my arms, my hands. Finally, my efforts were rewarded. A single, solitary drop of blood began to coalesce on my wrist. I watched, fascinated, as it grew. Then, gravity took over, and slowly, painstakingly, it began to fall. Time slowed to a crawl, and it seemed to fall forever; an iridescent raindrop, tumbling over and over, reflecting my entire life on its tiny, infinite mirrored surface. My vision narrowed until that one droplet was all that I could see, filling my view with its hypnotic dance. Then, silent and gentle as the kiss of an angel's wings, it fell in the pool to join its fellows, the ripples spreading out on all sides the only sign of its passing.

The knife fell from my lifeless fingers and clattered to the floor. I looked at it in surprise, as if I had never seen it before. My gaze traveled then to my battered, corpse-like arms, my lifeblood spilled upon the floor. I felt an overwhelming sense of betrayal then, and of loss. My final thought, before I lost consciousness forever, was that I had wasted so much life, so much potential. I remembered that you had worried about me; worried that I would hurt myself. I told you I'd be fine – it seems that perhaps I lied. I'm sorry – for everything.

With that, I slumped helplessly to the floor, and let the dark waters of oblivion close above my tired head. My world, for so long full of color, more recently shades of gray, slowly faded to black.

 


	6. The Umbrella

Janine's childhood

Perhaps there is an umbrella. An umbrella that has a few tattered edges, a few tears; even a few holes. Beneath the umbrella is an old man. His overcoat and hat - gray, pulled snug against the rain and chill - are as tattered and worn as the umbrella. He slouches into himself; leans into the battering wind and sighs, a sigh that carries within it all the sorrow and loneliness in the world.

Suddenly, a flash of red. Vibrant, alive, in such a dead, gray world. The hint of a child's jubilant laughter floats triumphantly on the breeze.

he starts, roused from his thoughts, and turns to look. But whatever it was is gone. Then - Whoomph! - his umbrella, now neglected, catches a stray gust of wind and flips inside out. He gasps as the shock of the icy water splashes his face, then grunts in annoyance as he wrestles with the stubborn contraption.

As he wrestles with it, oblivious to the way he is becoming soaked through, he sees it again - that sudden flash of brilliant red - as if the sun had suddenly appeared.

He gives his umbrella one last indignant shake, then turns to follow the glimpse of - well, of what he isn't sure. He only knows that he must follow it. Must catch the ray of sunshine that might finally pierce the clouds that cover his soul.

 


	7. Desert Dreams

A young Abe on a mission

A hot wind whipped around him, sending sand stinging between the folds of his cloak to burn his skin and eyes. He paused in the shadow of a building to wrap the cloth more tightly about his face, then buried his hands in his pockets, took a steadying breath, and stepped once more into the maelstrom. No one with any sense at all would dream of venturing out on a night like this, he reflected wryly, while the wind screamed and howled around him. It tore at the layers of fabric engulfing his spare frame, seeking an opening through which to sear his body and tear the skin from his bones. Not today, he thought grimly, and hunkered farther into the protective folds of cloth, grateful now for their often burdensome weight. Was it worth it, really? A tiny voice tugged insistently at the edges of his thoughts. He scowled, determinedly squelched the thought, and hurried on. But the nagging doubts were not so easily banished, and soon were back, pulling his attention away from the task at hand. And he would need all of that attention, he knew, for any misstep would go very badly for him, indeed.

He startled awake with a cry, head heavy with the fog of abruptly ended slumber, and tried to chase the remnants of the dream. But they skittered away from him, melting into nothing in the morning sun. He was left with a dry gritty mouth and a vague sense that the world had been on fire. For an instant he almost remembered, and then it was gone. He shrugged, swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and headed for the bathroom to rinse the sand out of his eyes.

 

 


	8. Delivery Boy

Janine sends Abe photos of baby Rose

The wind howled in rage, whipping tree branches about and trying to strip away their leaves. The rain lashed at the dark windows of empty houses; tears running down empty faces. The world had been reduced to ghostly shadows and variegated grays. A young man walking briskly down the deserted sidewalk shivered and pulled the collar of his jacket closer about his neck. It was an empty gesture - the wind and rain had penetrated every layer he wore, buried beneath his flesh, and were currently freezing his bones. He glanced apprehensively around him – just a few more feet...there. He stopped, looked surreptitiously about for unseen observers, then hurried up the deserted walk to a nondescript house indistinguishable from any of the others on that forgotten street. He pulled a small, unmarked envelope from under his jacket - not too wet, thankfully - she'd have his head if it had been damaged - and slipped it under the door. He pressed the buzzer once, starting at the way the hollow buzzing echoed up and down that forsaken street, then slipped around the side of the house and was gone.

 


	9. Punching the Puppet

Eddie does Strigoi recon

He stared incredulously about him - he was expected to believe this was a store? With a single glance he took in the dim, dingy room with cobwebs in the corners and the ancient, stooped old man with the long white beard and piercing blue eyes that seemed to follow his every move. There was an eerie, surrealistic quality about the place, as if time had somehow been barred from it, causing the passing years to have absolutely no effect on either the building itself, or the clerk who valiantly kept up his endless vigil.

Everything in the room was faded; the sparse furniture, the drab carpet, the heavy velvet drapes - he thought they might have been purple, once - which shrouded the room from sunlight, the ancient robes - he couldn't even hazard a guess as to what color they had once been - worn by the clerk; even the cobwebs looked old and stretched out. The only light came from a dim, bare bulb hanging over the clerk's desk, and the entire room seemed permeated with dust. The age of it all was so great, it was nearly palpable; the air seemed thick and heavy with the immense weight of all of the years it had witnessed.

In short, it was _too_ perfectly ancient and untouched. He smiled a grim smile to himself. Oh, yes, they were here. Now to discover where, exactly, they were hiding... He marched up to the ancient clerk, and opened his mouth to speak. At the incredulous expression on the man's face, he thought better of it. He reached out, his mouth twisting in a grimace, and punched the man on the jaw. He shook out his hand with a self-satisfied smirk. That would get him the answer he wanted far quicker than an endless interrogation with one of their puppets. Now all he had to do was wait for the man to wake up. He pulled up a claw-footed chair that was ancient a few centuries ago, and settled in to wait.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](https://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/)


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